


1-800 SAX SAX SAX

by Vanny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:18:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanny/pseuds/Vanny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troll session; Sometime prior to exile from Derse, Jack Noir decides to start a jazz band. The Dignitary is dubious, but warms to the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1-800 SAX SAX SAX

"Hey, Diamonds," Jack says, rude as always, never standing on ceremony, "think you can figure this thing out?" And he places a heavy black box in the Dignitary's arms.   
  
If he'd asked differently, the Dignitary might never have opened it. The suggestion of _joining a band_ would have disturbed him. The weekly card games are quite enough leisure. Playing _music_ for _fun_ would have made him shudder inwardly at the suggestion of sensuality, even decadence. Leave that sort of thing for the other three. The box sits on the desk in his bedchamber, spoiling his asceticism with its bulk, its demands for attention.   
  
But Jack has made it a puzzle.   
  
The latches open with two satisfying snaps, and the case parts a little of its own accord. He can see through the slit that it is lined in velvet.   
  
Despite himself, he _does_ like velvet. And silk, and-- _Enough._ A finger is sufficient to flip the box entirely open. What's inside is a disassembled machine--an instrument, he realizes. The brass stands out embarrassingly among the muted purples of his furnishings. There is a tang of metal and polish on the air. It doesn't belong.   
  
The myriad buttons are capped with discs of some hard substance with a delicate, milky sheen. He touches one. It is cold and smooth, but there is no click. It depresses softly. Subtly. Its underside is cleverly padded. His brash invader has hidden depths, it would seem.   
  
He puts it away, but the box remains monolithically on his desk. He has nowhere else to put it.   
\---   
He returns to it the next evening with a book. There are diagrams. The thing is called a saxophone, and it fits together just so: there is a wedge-shaped mouthpiece to which he binds a precisely cut rectangle of dried grass, a reed. This is not the difficult part. The buttons, he is sure, are where he'll tease out its secrets. But first it needs to make a sound.   
  
He puts his mouth on the wedge-shaped piece, rolling his lower lip over his teeth as the book suggests, and blows.   
  
It makes an undignified honk. He nearly drops it. As he stands with the instrument on one arm, the shoulder strap loose against his back, feeling a strange almost-numbness in his lip where the vibration came through, he gains a new appreciation for the soundproofing of his rooms. He approaches the mouthpiece again, cautiously, as he might approach a dangerous animal. His care yields a shriek. The mouthpiece proves trickier than expected. The saxophone returns to its cage. For two days, he does not touch it.   
\---   
When he returns to it again, he is irritated. He has become accustomed to things coming easily to him. The tightness of his jaw in anger only brings an assortment of wheezes from the bell of the saxophone.   
  
He drops it. It jerks to a halt on its strap and hangs. He lets his shoulders bow forward with the weight. Patience, he tells himself. All things in time. His iron will is a point of pride; he exercises patience, and is at last rewarded. He takes in a lungful of air and the saxophone makes a sound unlike any he’s heard before.

It _wails._ It is low and throbbing and sad, and the vibration strikes him deep inside his chest. This time, he smiles when he’s finished with it, the faintest upward curve of his lips. The remainder of the sound rests on his tongue like velvet. His cold hands return the horn to its case with the care of a lover.

It’s months still before he’ll play it in Jack’s presence, but when he does, Jack won’t be disappointed.


End file.
